


Twin Fantasy

by vampiredio



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Redemption, Separations, and as a sad gay person myself i have to do the heavy lifting, bc i find the tragedy of their love is so easily looked over, i want schlatt and quackity to have a healthy relationship, so i will now speedrun their love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:02:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28428978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampiredio/pseuds/vampiredio
Summary: Schlatt stands upon the hallowed ground of his own grave; his name is misspelled, there’s no epitaph to be seen. He shoves his hands in his pockets and lets out a deep sigh, the cold air is not in the least bit tinged by the warmth of his breath. He reaches for the crumpled pack of cigarettes tucked in the inner pocket of his suit jacket only to find them missing, hissing through clenched teeth he resigns himself to the situation.He’s dead.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt
Comments: 270
Kudos: 829





	1. My Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to preface this by saying this is content that lives solely within the fictional universe of the SMP and has no bearings or attachments to the real people who play these characters. This is all c!Schlatt and c!Quackity, nothing more nothing less.
> 
> This first chapter is very short since It's just a setup; I'm quite bad at writing longer works of fiction so I'd like to challenge myself a bit with that!

Schlatt stands upon the hallowed ground of his own grave; his name is misspelled, there’s no epitaph to be seen. He shoves his hands in his pockets and lets out a deep sigh, the cold air is not in the least bit tinged by the warmth of his breath. He reaches for the crumpled pack of cigarettes tucked in the inner pocket of his suit jacket only to find them missing, hissing through clenched teeth he resigns himself to the situation. 

He’s dead. 

He has no epiphany, no sudden clarity, no overwhelming relief or cosmic understanding of this mortal coil; he just feels empty. He looks down through foggy hands, the ground warps slightly behind them. He curses the God he never believed in for dragging him back to this hellscape for a second time. 

Schlatt’s ears perk up at the sound of a familiar gait approaching from behind, he turns to see a disheveled and lifeless looking man who is seemingly unbothered by the downpour. 

Quackity.

He calls out but his words are washed away with the rain, the emptiness in his chest threatens to claw its way out. It’s like he’s watching everything in third person; Q walks right through him to his grave and kicks the stone, he immediately regrets it. The anger in his voice is more real than anything ever has been, he curses Schlatt, says he hates him, that he’ll never forgive him for what he did, how he never loved him. The towering ram reaches out to touch Quackity, his hand hovers above his shoulder for a moment before withdrawing. There’s nothing he can do besides sit and watch Q lose his mind right before his eyes. He’s seen this happen a thousand times before, so why does it hurt so bad? 

Quackity’s anger eventually runs out, he collapses to his knees on the muddy earth and grips the dirt beneath his fingers. Tears and snot run down his face, eyes screwed shut in a desperate attempt to forget where he is just for a moment. Q sobs, desperately and uncontrollably, every breath is caught in his throat as he chokes on his own tears. He is drenched in rain and sorrow, the pain feels inescapable and never ending. Schlatt gets to his feet and stands behind the crumpled body of his lover, he’s never looked so small before. A sudden affection rises to attention and threatens to swallow him whole, he once again reaches out in a desperate attempt to touch Quackity. Just one more time, please God, just this one time.

There’s a split second where Q’s eyes grow wide, his body motionless and rigid. He once again breaks down at the realization of whose ghostly touch is rested on his shoulder, “Don’t fuck with me like this man, I can’t do it anymore- I can’t keep thinking about you.” It’s the final straw for Schlatt, he falls to the ground next to his husband and desperately tries to hold him, over and over again he attempts to wrap his arms around the other man’s small frame and every time he passes right through.


	2. Beach Life-in-Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be kind to me, I'm not a writer by trade I just do this as a hobby (and I'm not good at evaluating my own writing)! This chapter is longer, and hopefully they'll keep getting longer as I push myself harder to write more.

He isn’t sure for how long he’s been hanging around, watching Quackity slowly unravel at the seams, every day passes like the one before it; slowly, agonizingly, painfully. There’s nothing he can do besides hover behind him and wince each time Q delves a little further into an all consuming madness. Lately he isolates himself in a shoddy stone bunker, the room itself is small and dark. Various potions and bottles lay strewn upon messy countertops, papers and books which have been filled with feverish writing are haphazardly piled wherever they can fit. In the middle of the workspace sits an operating table, the material is rusted and stained with blood that never seems to come off. Quackity spends sleepless nights and restless days here, constantly working on a project that Schlatt is too scared to come to terms with. He reads over Q’s shoulder, analyzing the old tomes he now possesses, each book is filled to the brim with resurrection spells and necromancer’s guides to restoration. Surely, Quackity wouldn’t go to such lengths to bring back a man who was hated by every person he ever met. Schlatt looks down at his hands, his clawed fingertips have a slight tremble as he imagines all the times he gripped his husband too tightly or for just a little too long, pinpricks of red rising to his skin. 

Tonight he follows Quackity to the grave yard, he grips an iron shovel in one hand and drags an old sled behind him. Schlatt knows what’s about to happen, and he’s never been so afraid in his life. He wordlessly pleads into the night, but none of his begging can change a plan which has already been set into motion. 

Q begins laying his shovel into the earth, it gives way easily beneath his fervor and desperation. Slowly but surely the casket is unearthed, moonlight washes over the splintering wood. He gently dusts the remaining dirt and grime off the lid before prying it open with the head of his shovel, Schlatt’s remains lay dormant and still. A few stray tears fall from his hollow eyes onto the dead man’s face, Quackity leans down and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I know you’re quiet right now, and I know that when I bring you back you’ll go right back to being the asshole you always were.” He sits back against the side of the dirt hole, allowing himself a moment of rest. “I loved you, I really did. I don’t know if you’re capable of love though. I don’t think you are.” Q stares up at the full moon, white light covers his face in a radiance unlike anything else. In this moment he is heavenly.

Schlatt watches his angel take a few deep breaths before returning to the task at hand, he laboriously shoves the huge corpse of his late husband to the surface and drags his body onto the sled. The three of them make their way back to the bunker in complete silence, wind occasionally brushes through the tree line and sends small waves through Quackity’s dark hair, matted with sweat. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand before carefully descending the staircase into the dugout, the sled collides with a loud thunk against each stone step. The weight of Schlatt’s rigid corpse keeps it fairly still but on the couple of occasions it appears to slip, Q desperately wrestles to maintain its balance. When they’re finally at the bottom he pushes the heavy iron door open, it squeaks on its rusted hinges and gives way to the darkness inside. Quackity struggles once more to lift Schlatt’s large body onto the table, he leans over and rests his hands on his knees while catching his breath. Schlatt himself is only able to watch as the madness unfolds, the tremble in his hands returns as he follows his crazed lover across the room. Q strikes a match against the edge of a table and lights a candle, the warm glow immediately fills the room. “I know you were always saying how candles were sappy and pretentious, but I don’t really have a choice.” He sets it down next to the operating table and begins uncorking some of the potion bottles; they hum with magic as their ingredients mix with the stagnant air. Quackity undoes the first few buttons on Schlatt’s white shirt, he can’t help but feel the softness of his skin beneath his fingertips and sigh. He puts on a pair of blood stained gloves and ties his equally disgusting rubber apron behind his back, “I guess there’s no turning back now.” 

He lifts a knife from the metal dish of various surgical tools, examining the blade under candle light he deems it fit for the task. Gently and ever so carefully he begins carving a sigil into Schlatt’s chest. He peels back the first few layers of skin for the design to show more prominently, every once in a while looking back to make sure he’s copying the image from the resurrection spell identically. Once he’s satisfied with his work he begins pouring one of the unnamed potions over the open wound, it starts to bubble and fizz on contact; the foam stains Schlatt’s once white shirt a pinkish red as it mixes with his blood. Quackity is grinning ear to ear, everything is going just as planned. “Before I complete the final step, I just have to say a few words…” He takes his gloves off and wipes his sweaty palms on his apron, “I know you’re going to be mad when you wake up, I know you’ll probably beat the shit out of me, or worse. I know you won’t be any different this time, but I can’t help but hope for something better.” His voice trembles and threatens to break under the weight of his words. “You’re a monster. I know you are, I’ve always known you were. I knew from the start that it would end up like this, and yet I still couldn’t help but fall headfirst into the fire.” He lights another match with the now dimming flame of the candle and holds it to his face, “please, let something be different this time.” He lets it drop onto the ring of liquid on Schlatt’s chest; it is instantly alight in a sickly green flame, the heat it emanates is nearly unbearable. Quackity stares in wonder as the efforts of his labour pay off right in front of his eyes, his husband is coming back to life, whether he likes it or not


	3. Stop Smoking (We Love You)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a bit longer this time! Don't expect these rapid updates forever, I just had nothing to do today.

Schlatt opens his eyes, the old tiled ceiling stares back at him. He glances to his left to see Quackity standing at his bedside, partially cowering and seemingly afraid. The burnt sigil on his chest stings and electrifies his revived nerves, the feeling is both agonizing and heavenly at the same time. He tentatively touches the dried blood on his chest, the warmth of his own body catches him off guard at first. Schlatt manages to push himself to a sitting position on the table, he hunches over in exhaustion and pain. Q hasn’t dared to move, he stands completely motionless, barely breathing, as if Schlatt will simply forget he exists if he’s still enough. He doesn’t forget, in fact he musters every bit of strength he has to carefully, ever so gently, wrap his arms around Q and bring them both down to the grimy floorboards; it’s quiet, deathly so, they don’t say a word to each other.

“I’m sorry,” Schlatt croaks, his voice is hoarse and shaky. “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

Barely a second can pass before Quackity nearly jumps to his feet and backs himself up against the wall, chest heaving in rapid succession. The panic in his eyes is like a deer in headlights, he trembles under Schlatt’s familiar gaze. “Don’t say shit like that, I know you’re not sorry. You just want me under your thumb again.” He can barely get the words out, breathless and afraid. 

Schlatt stares at the floor, his arms hang limp at his sides. The warmth from where their body’s were touching only moments ago dissipates into the tense air. “I don’t blame you for not believing me. I don’t blame you for hating me either, but I don’t understand why you brought me back.” He looks up at Quackity, their eyes meet for the first time in what feels like forever.

 _How could I not?_ He doesn’t understand who this Schlatt is, certainly not the one he used to know. His racing thoughts still, he thinks back to before the presidency, before all the chaos. Schlatt hadn’t always been callous, greedy and power hungry; there was a time when they could sidle up next to each other on a park bench and enjoy the sunshine. These memories are few and far between, but he holds them closer to his heart than anything in the world. 

“I know I treated you poorly, I know I’m a major asshole, you’re right to be angry at me. I wouldn’t be upset if you had brought me back to life just to kill me again. I don’t know how to make it up to you.”

“You can’t.” Quackity glances away from him, he knows that if he looks into Schlatt’s disappointed face he’ll break.

His ears drop back, he feels something he hasn’t in a long time; broken. “Then why? Why did you bring me back to life?”

“I was going to kill you.” He lies through his teeth, “I really was, I was prepared for you to wake up screaming and slurring your words just like you always do. I was gonna shove a knife down your stupid fucking throat and get my revenge. But here you are, looking sad and helpless and confused.” He sighs, “I’m softer than you, I can’t look at a wounded animal and still put the arrow through its heart.”

“Sure you can, I’ve seen you do it before.” Schlatt grins. Give him his revenge, he deserves it.

“Are you trying to provoke me? See, this is what I’m talking about, you’re a real fuckin’ asshole you know that? I’m letting you off easy here and you’re still trying to get me riled up.” Q huffs in frustration and crosses his arms. He regrets this already, but there really is no going back once you’ve brought a dead man back to life, especially when that dead man is Schlatt.

“You said it yourself, you wanted revenge. I just figure if I can give you that peace of mind I might as well, y’know?” 

“Don’t push me on this, I’ll leave you locked up in this cold dark cellar if you don’t play your cards right.”

“Sounds to me like that just ain’t true.” His stomach growls loudly and interrupts his train of thought, “Look, not to change the subject but I’m kind of starving and I don’t see much to eat around here, unless you want me to eat candles and weird old books.”

Q sighs again, his patience already wearing dangerously thin. “Yeah, whatever, you can stay at my house. I don’t know what the fuck else I’m going to do with you, there’s no way this would go over well- you being alive that is.”

“Guess that means everyone still hates me.” He says it like he hasn’t been following Quackity around as a ghost for the last month, he knows damn well the state of things. 

“I’m in charge now though, okay? I call the shots on what we’re doing. And right now we’re going back to my house where I’ll get you something to eat.”

Schlatt shrugs, “Sounds good to me, I was getting tired of having you on a leash all the time. You’re a big boy, you can think for yourself.” 

Quackity begrudgingly offers his hand to Schlatt who takes it graciously and pulls himself to his feet. He plays coy, he doesn’t know how to do anything else, and yet on the quiet walk home he can’t help but accidentally reach for Q’s warm hand, he catches himself just as they brush against each other. Quackity flinches and recoils in an instant, he shoves his hand in his jacket pocket and doesn’t say anything, Schlatt silently kicks himself for even trying to be so bold. Why the fuck did he think for even an instant that would go over well? 

Ah, that’s right, he wasn’t thinking at all. 

Schlatt expects to look up at their house, he wants to go into the familiar foyer and look up at the shitty chandelier, hear their voices echo off the walls when they argue. The building they walk up to is in fact not the familiar home he pictures at all, he realizes that Q’s moved out of the place they used to live in, the one they built together. _Oh_ , he thinks, _that hurts_. He gently clutches the breast pocket over his heart, this stinging pain is somehow so much worse than the agonizing ache pulsing through every fiber of his being. He stands dumbfounded at the foot of the walkway, the warm lights coming from within are somehow so much brighter than the ones they had. Quackity doesn’t notice that he’s fallen behind until he turns to hold the door open for him.

“What the hell are you doing, Schlatt? Get in here, it’s fuckin’ cold out man.” 

He finally breaks his trance and walks inside; everything is covered in a layer of dust.

“Sorry for the mess, but not really though. I haven’t been home in a while. I think Tubbo was coming over to feed Ducky, but that’s really all.”

“Ducky?” Schlatt cocks his head in both amusement and confusion.

“Oh, Ducky is my cat. I was getting lonely, I think Phil found her wandering around L’Manberg all disheveled and sad-lookin’, kinda like how you look right now.” 

Ah, he missed the snarky comments and old man banter. It warms him up from the inside, he grins in satisfaction. “I see… So you replaced me with a cat?”

“I think she’s doing a better job than you.”

Schlatt laughs, really laughs, the way he used to at Q’s jokes, even when they weren’t funny. It fills the house with life, suddenly the empty cabinets and dust covered counters don’t seem so lonely. Every dark corner and unknown crevice is lit up at once, the house glows from the inside out.

“It wasn’t that funny honestly, but thanks for humoring me I guess.” Even Quackity feels the warmth bubble up inside his chest, he can’t help but turn to hide a smile; he doesn’t want to give the old ram the satisfaction of seeing him this giddy. “Anyways, food was next in line, right? I’m not sure that I’ll have much that’s edible anymore, but maybe a couple frozen dinners.” He digs through the icebox haphazardly and pulls out the single remaining container of lasagna, surely freezer burnt to hell. “This’ll have to do, can you get me a couple plates?” Q gestures towards a cabinet near the sink. 

He heaves his tired body out of the chair he had just sat down in and pulls some dusty plates from the cupboard, “Can you even reach these? Seems a little too tall for you bud.” Q shoots him a nasty look but continues attempting to dig the lasagna out of the tupperware it’s apparently stuck to. Schlatt takes it upon himself to wash the grime off of the plates so they’re more suitable for eating, after he’s wiped them dry with a rag he slides them down the countertop to Q. 

“Maybe I need a step stool, maybe I don’t, but that’s none of your business.”

Schlatt takes one guess and opens the cabinet under the sink to reveal a small wooden stool, he takes one look and closes it without saying a word. The knowledge that it exists is all he needs.

After a lot of shimmying and shaking of the container, Quackity finally frees the lasagna from it’s freezer-burned prison. He divvies both of them a sizable share and throws it into the oven; they’ve both been nuked to hell, but at least it’s warm food. Schlatt devours his meal in moments, just as he always has. He takes no time nor pleasure in eating, it’s just another chore like any other menial task. Q on the other hand always eats in a manner that can only be described as contemplative, he savors his food, really enjoys it, even if it’s the worst meal he’s ever had. 

When Schlatt gets tired of watching Q eat, which is quite quickly, he rises to get a glass of water. The second he stands up, a shooting pain runs through his muscles, the room spins and the edges of his vision start to close in on him; his knees buckle underneath his weight and he’s on the floor in moments. When he comes to, Quackity is worriedly kneeling over him and calling his name, he seems to be yelling so loudly his voice could go hoarse. Schlatt motions for him to be quieter, for the love of God, just a bit softer. He sits up against the bottom of the kitchen island and takes a moment to collect himself.

“I think I’m just tired, anyone would be after being literally brought back from the dead by some freak ritual.” He looks down at his shaky hands, they tremble with a fear he has only recently learned, dying. 

“Yeah… Yeah, that’s probably all it is. You should get some rest.”

“You’d think after being perpetually asleep for a month I wouldn’t be this exhausted.” He gives a half hearted chuckle, heightened anxiety has his hair standing at end. “So, um, could you give a guy a hand?” Quackity leaves his unfinished dinner behind to help Schlatt as he stumbles up the stairs, he grips the railing for dear life. There’s a moment where he takes a break and leans the brunt of his weight against Q, there’s no intimacy between them and yet he can’t help but feel his heart beat a little bit faster. By the time they reach the top of the steps he feels like he could die at any moment, as if his body is falling apart and ripping at the seams.

“Dude, are you good?” Quackity helps him sit on the edge of the dusty guest bed.

“I’ll be fine.” He puts a hand up and motions for Q to leave. “I just need some sleep. I’ll be fine in the morning.” Quackity gives a hesitant nod and quietly closes the door behind him. 

Once he's alone he shakily gets to his feet and stands in front of the full length mirror propped against the wall, he looks like shit. His suit jacket is missing a button, the white work shirt underneath is stained pink from his own blood. He traces a gentle finger over the sigil carved into his chest, the wound itself isn’t very deep, but it hurts like hell. He runs his other hand through his messy and matted hair, tufts and clumps stick out seemingly at random. When he can finally meet his own gaze in the reflection he’s unsurprised to see a pair of deep set eyes framed by heavy bags. If he didn’t know better he’d think he was staring at a corpse.

He doesn’t have the energy to change into clean clothes, in fact he doesn’t even think Quackity would have anything that fits him in the first place. He takes one arm out of his jacket and lets it drop to the floor, it folds over itself in a disorganized pile. The cigarettes he couldn’t find a month ago roll out from under the dirty heap of fabric, he’s never been so happy to see anything in his life. After the house grows dark and quiet he gathers all of his remaining energy to slink down the stairs and onto the front porch, he sits on the steps and fumbles through his pants pockets. Schlatt hisses in a fit of frustration upon realizing he doesn’t have his lighter, he must have dropped it, or maybe he had forgotten it somewhere long ago. He sighs with the unlit cigarette between his lips, a familiar hand offers him a light from over his shoulder. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and breathes the smoke out in silent relief, the tension in his muscles slowly loosens its grip. Quackity sits next to him with his knees pulled up against his chest, he always seems so small in these quiet moments. They look up at the stars together, the sky is the same as it’s always been, forever unchanged. The familiar ache in his chest rises to the top of his throat and threatens to spill over, he takes another drag of his cigarette and ignores it the same way he always has. 

“You shouldn’t smoke so much. It’s a bad habit.”

“You always hated it, I know.” He taps the butt of the smoke and lets the ashes fall to his feet.

“Then why did you never stop.”

“Guess I didn’t care that you hated it. Is that the answer you want?” Schlatt turns to look directly into Q’s eyes, the hurt in them is obvious. He sighs, the words he wants to say never come out.

“Yeah, whatever man.” Quackity rests his chin atop his knees and looks out at the overgrown lawn. 

“You can go inside you know, you don’t have to sit out here with me.”

“I’m worried you’ll pass out again and hit your head, dying in some freak accident.” He closes his eyes, “what if I wake up tomorrow and find your body crumpled at the foot of the stairs, I don’t want to look at your corpse again.” 

Schlatt resigns himself to a fact he was trying to ignore, Quackity cares about him. “It sucked dying all alone.” He puts his cigarette out on his thigh, the embers singe through the thin fabric and leave a burning welt on his skin. 

“Yeah, well, it sucked being pushed around and yelled at all the time too. You weren’t exactly fun to be around. You’re still not fun to be around.” 

Schlatt lets the silence hang in the air for a moment, “Do you remember the first time we kissed.” 

Quackity sighs, the memory is faded but still amusing. “Yeah. It was really shitty.”

“Really? I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“You bit my lip dude, it bled for like half an hour.”

“Well, it was kind of spur of the moment.”

“Still.”

They fall back into a comfortable silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder. Quackity eventually gets to his feet when the cold becomes too much to bear.

“C’mon big man, you need to get to your beauty sleep. You look like shit.”

Schlatt begrudgingly agrees, they ascend the stairs to their separate rooms and close the doors behind them. There is an emptiness that permeates the walls of the house, their dark rooms sink its teeth into their lonely hearts. 

That night they both dream about each other.


	4. Sober to Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years! Enjoy <3

Schlatt wakes up to early autumn light filtering in through partially closed blinds, he groans and rolls to face away from the window. The house is warm and silent, he absentmindedly reaches an arm out to the space where Quackity should be only to find more empty bed sheets and grimaces. As he’s adjusting the blanket he notices a pile of folded clothes on the dresser, a small yellow note is stuck to the top. He forces himself to sit up and wipe the sleep from his eyes, he presses his thumbs into the sockets until grey static forms behind his eyelids. Schlatt yawns and stretches, sore muscles scream beneath his skin as they threaten to snap under the pressure of being suddenly reanimated. He finally manages to get to his feet and examine the pile of clothing; it’s a random assortment of his old shirts and pants. The note on top is scribbled in Quackity’s messy handwriting;

_Here’s some of your old shit I had lying around. I’ll be back sometime in the evening, don’t go outside and don’t cause any trouble!!!! Also, please take a shower or something, you smell like dirt and mildew._

_PS: Do me a favor and make sure Ducky has enough food, I didn’t have time to refill her bowl this morning._

He sets the note next to the neatly folded clothing and thumbs through the layers of fabric, none of his button ups, slacks or jackets are present. _Does he really think I’m going to start wearing loungewear just because I’m stuck inside all day? As if._ Surely if Q had this much of his clothing, he must have the rest of it; maybe it’s packed away in a box somewhere that he never has to see or thrown in the bottom of an empty drawer, forgotten and gathering dust. He remembers when they shared a closet, there were two very clear halves divided down the center: Schlatt’s countless suits on one end and Quackity’s more casual wear on the other. They’ve always been opposites, even in the quietest of ways.

He walks across the hall to Q’s room, the door is partially open. Schlatt peaks his head in, it’s a mostly empty living space with a couple potted plants and a pair of glasses on the nightstand. Near one of the pillows lies a little black cat, scrawny but clearly well fed. He nearly melts at the sight of her splayed out and lounging in the sun coming through the windows, the light turns her black fur a deep brown. He carefully sits on the edge of the bed so as not to startle the tiny animal and reaches a hand out to pet her; he stops in his tracks when he notices what she’s nestled on top of.

It’s one of his shirts. 

The implication brings his thoughts to a grinding halt, some semblance of hope sparks a small flame in his chest, he wants to cup the tiny fire in his calloused hands and blow on the embers until it becomes a roaring inferno. He never thought he would be so happy to see a dirty shirt, but here he is, smiling so wide it hurts his face. 

He pets Ducky until she seems to find it more of a bother than anything else and suddenly remembers why he had come in here in the first place, his clothes. The closet door opens with a squeak and inside hangs all of the suits he hoped to find. They’re neatly pushed to one side, just like they always were. He takes a clean shirt and a pair of slacks off of their respective hangers and manages to take the shower that Quackity recommended, the amount of dirt that washes off of him is almost unbelievable. Schlatt stares at the reflection of himself in the foggy mirror, he looks much more recognizable compared to the night before. He’s still tired, his head rhythmically throbs to the beat of his own heart, his muscles and joints seem to constantly fight against him, but he’s alive. Warm blood pumps through his veins and fresh air fills his lungs, he can’t remember the last time he was happy to be awake. 

The day passes slowly but without much issue, he figures out how to use Q’s over complicated coffee machine after a handful of frustrating minutes and pokes through the interesting few books sitting on a dusty shelf in the office. Schlatt makes himself comfortable in Quackity’s plush leather chair and kicks his feet up on the desk, his shoes hit the wood with a hollow _thunk._ He loses track of time after a while and comes back to reality realizing he’s nearly starving, hunger pains claw at his stomach and make him nauseous. He’s always been bad at eating, at doing normal people things, at forming routines and sticking to them; the only reason he ever remembered to eat was because he ate at the same time Quackity did. If Q sat down at the table to eat, it meant he needed to as well. The only peace they ever got was during meal times, they would sit in tense silence and avoid each other’s angry gaze, voices hoarse from screaming at one another all day. The good memories are few and far between, there were a few occasions where it really felt as if they were a couple, like they loved each other. Schlatt can’t remember a single time they slept in the same bed; they never hugged, they never kissed, they never fucked. It was always business and business first. 

They were together, but only in the way people are together when they can’t be apart. 

He slowly rises to his feet and shuffles into the kitchen, he doesn’t have the will to eat anything. Every bad memory takes a little bit more of his energy until he’s sat at the table with his head in his hands, gripping his hair with frustrated white knuckles. _How could I have been so careless?_ The front door quietly opens and closes behind a familiar silhouette.

“Hey, did you feed Ducky like I asked?”

The words seem far away, his body feels like it’s falling into the ocean. The corners of the room fold in on itself, every unlit spot is suddenly so much darker; he’s being swallowed whole. Schlatt’s chest heaves rapidly under the weight of his newfound panic, the memories don’t slow down. He can’t stop thinking about every argument, every screaming match, every shitty thing he said through clenched teeth. He’s falling apart at the seams, and he deserves it. 

“Holy shit- Schlatt- are you okay?” Quackity drops the produce filled paper bags he’s holding and rushes to the table. 

“Why did you bring me back, really, why did you do it?” Every word takes so much effort and concentration, he thinks he’ll die just by speaking.

“I told you already. I was going to kill you.”

“No you weren’t. I know you’re lying, don’t lie to me.” His voice is low, it comes from a place where his anger is still working its way out of his once dead body. 

Quackity shudders under the ram’s cold eyes, he knows this anger, it’s familiar, almost homey. “Look man, I don’t have to tell you shit. You got your answer, and it’s all you’re getting.”

“Just tell me, do you still love me? Did you ever love me?” He snaps. Angry tears form in the corners of his eyes and threaten to spill over, he doesn’t let them.

Quackity shifts uncomfortably in his seat, the dark corners of the room once again begin creeping out from the undertow. They’re staring directly into each other’s eyes, the house is quieter than it’s ever been. “Look, what does it matter? You’re a shitty alcoholic son of a bitch, you put me through hell, you realize that? You must know. I refuse to believe that you have no idea the kind of shit you did to me, to everyone.” 

Q’s words cut ribbons into Schlatt’s racing heart, he feels himself bleeding out on the cold tile. “I know. Of course I know.”

“Then why didn’t you ever change! It was always the same shit over and over again, I thought I was going insane!” Quackity stands up from his seat, the familiar yelling matches are no longer just a memory.

“I didn’t know how! And you all left me in my moment of need, so much for being partners huh tough guy?” 

“Oh shut the fuck up about partners, you were never there for me, even when I needed you the most! I thought we were going to do great things together, and you fucked it up over and over again!”

“I fucked it up? Take a look at yourself Q, you’re a husk of who you used to be, housing a fugitive like some kind of saint!”

“At least I’m trying to be a better person!” 

The tiny fire in his chest goes out. There is no love here, there never was.


	5. Nervous Young Inhumans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I wanted to write longer chapters but whenever something wraps up this easily, it feels weird to then start the next bit of story as a continuation. Anyways! Next chapter will indeed be longer.

Quackity curls up into himself in bed, face pressed against one of Schlatt’s old shirts; it smells of alcohol, cigarette smoke and cheap cologne. His body shakes with weak sobs, he doesn’t have the energy to cry right now. He remembers one of the worst moments in his entire life, sitting on top of Schlatt’s chest in the middle of the night, fingers wrapped tightly around his throat. He recalls how the man beneath him woke with a start but immediately gave in to the situation; he placed his hands over Quackity’s and gave a genuine smile, eye’s closed and creased at the corners. In this split second they both understand something of deathly importance;

Q loves Schlatt so much he could kill him.  
Schlatt loves Q so much he would let him.

Their argument still rings in his ears, shouts ricocheting off the walls and amplifying the anger in their already raised voices.

_Do you still love me? Did you ever love me?_

The words play over and over again in his head.

_Of course I loved you!_

He wants to scream, but all he does is lay motionless in his cold, empty bed. 

The door quietly opens, a shaft of light from the hallway illuminates a corner of the room. The mattress groans under the weight of the larger man, they lay back to back, body’s never quite meeting. Quackity blindly reaches behind him and fumbles for Schlatt’s warm hand, how long has it been since they touched each other? 

“What can I do to make things right?” His voice is a whisper, barely audible.

Quackity thinks for a moment, the solution is obvious but heartbreaking. “I don’t know.” 

Twin flames who lie silently in the dark, their fingers interlaced for the first time in what feels like forever. Q feels the pointed ends of his once dead husband’s finger tips, the same ones that sometimes held him just a little too tightly or with just a bit too much force, and yet in this quiet moment the stillness of their body’s quells any fear he has. He wants so badly to roll over and press himself against Schlatt, to pull his large arms around him and melt into the warmth of his lover. It takes every ounce of self restraint to continue laying facing away from him, eyes fixated on the window, watching the trees swaying gently in the dark. 

“I’m sorry.” Schlatt’s voice cracks.

“I know.” 

“I’m really sorry. I don’t know what to do.” 

He can feel the bed tremble beneath him; Schlatt is crying.

“I want to hold you. Please, can I hold you, just this once?” He practically begs, voice strained in an attempt to keep his composure. 

Quackity shakily sighs, he wants to say yes. God, he wants to say yes. He rolls over, face pressed against the ram’s back, the warmth of his body is almost intoxicating. Schlatt adjusts himself in the squeaky bed, he wraps his arms around Q and pulls him tightly against his body. He feels his husband press his face into his hair, breath becoming rhythmic and even. His large hands grip the back of Q’s shirt, as if he’s holding on for dear life, like he could suddenly disappear at any moment. Their body’s are tangled on top of the sheets like teenage lovers, desperate and hungry for more; they’re as close as they can possibly get and yet it doesn’t feel like enough. Quackity sighs into his chest, he listens closely to Schlatt’s heartbeat and closes his eyes, the heat between them is nearly unbearably comfortable; he wants to lay like this forever, pretending that every bad thing they’ve ever done to each other no longer exists.

Schlatt presses a gentle kiss into his hair, the intimacy of this single gesture is enough to make him break. When has he done something like this before? Has he ever? There were no soft moments, no lingering gazes or quiet whispers in the dark, his touch was always harsh and driven by lust or frustration. But right now, in this single instance, Quackity isn’t sure how much longer he can keep pretending he isn’t still in love with Schlatt; like every passing glance doesn’t send fire down his spine. 

“This is all I ever wanted.” His words are quiet and muffled against the ram’s chest.

Tonight is the first time they ever sleep in the same bed.


	6. Bodys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little softer this time, don't get your hopes up though ;p

They’re just teenagers, nervously laughing and fumbling over each other. Quackity calls over his shoulder for Schlatt to catch up, they hop a chain link fence into the grounds of an abandoned factory. Patches of weeds push through the old cracked pavement and snake their way up the sides of the rundown building, sometimes a stray animal darts away and ducks under some rubble. The summer heat beats down on their young skin, sweat stained shirts cover their sunburnt shoulders. 

“Everyone says this place is haunted, but I dunno. You’re not scared, are you?” 

“Even if it was haunted, I wouldn’t be scared.” Schlatt huffs and tugs at a corner of his shirt that’s caught on some stray scrap metal. 

They both work to contort their bodies into shapes that fit through collapsed doorways and crumbled stairwells. Sometimes Q leans down to offer a sweaty hand and pull him to safety; each time they touch his heart races. When they finally make it to the roof it’s nearly sundown, the sky is painted pink and orange. The stars are just starting to come out, tiny pinpricks of white light peaking through clouds that hang suspended above their heads, motionless in the still evening air. Sitting near the edge of the roof they dangle their legs through the openings in the railing, both boys have their necks craned up to look at the ever dimming sky. 

“See, I told you it wouldn’t be haunted.” He bumps his shoulder against Quackity.

“Maybe it is, but the ghosts just don’t want to come out right now.”

“That seems… less likely than it just not being haunted at all.”

“You have no imagination. Sometimes it’s more fun to believe in things that aren’t likely.” He gently shoves Schlatt back. 

This time their shoulders remain connected, the electricity between their bodies is enough to drive him mad. He turns to look at Q who is entirely fixated on the sun setting over the horizon, the fading light paints his skin a deep blue. He seems so far away and yet so close at the same time, the space between them is almost null and yet he can’t find the courage to close the imaginary gap. Their hands momentarily brush against each other, it’s the breaking point for Schlatt. 

“We’re best friends, right?” 

Quackity averts his gaze from the sunset. “Yeah, of course. Why?”

“So I could do anything and you would never hate me?”

“Well… I don’t know about anything, like, I don’t think murder is okay-” 

He grabs Q’s face mid sentence and presses their lips against each other, it’s a desperate and messy kiss. Quackity doesn’t pull away like he had feared, in fact he laces his fingers through Schlatt’s matted, sweaty hair and attempts to bring him even closer. They kiss until they’re breathless, until the only thing they can do is pull away gasping for air. They stare at each other, chests rising and falling in rapid succession. A small drop of blood falls from Q’s bottom lip and onto his shirt, and then another. 

“Dude, did you bite me?”

He can’t help but laugh, “I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

And then they’re adults, sitting through long meetings at opposite ends of the table. They shuffle through seemingly unimportant documents and never say a word to each other, sometimes they bring one another something to drink but the words they exchange are few and far between. Typically they argue about Schlatt’s drinking habits, about his smoking habits, about his self destructive tendencies; it’s always about him, he’s been the villain from the beginning after all, hasn’t he? Sometimes it escalates to throwing things, breaking plates, storming out of the giant house they built together. It has more room than they could ever hope to use and yet the walls are always closing in on them. At night they sleep in separate rooms, Schlatt drinks himself nearly to death every day and Quackity pretends he doesn’t notice when he wakes up hungover and sick the next morning. 

Now a single candle is lit on the nightstand, Schlatt puts it out with his fingers and looms over the bedside. On rare nights like these they fuck, but they never make love; it’s always needy and clawing, attempting to get their bare bodies as close to each other as possible. They’re fueled by lust and desperation to feel something; hungry and determined to ruin one another. Q digs his fingers into his lover’s broad shoulders and Schlatt leaves welts and bite marks wherever he can. When all is said and done they lay on opposite sides of the bed, never quite touching, bruised and bleeding. Without fail one of them will wordlessly get up and go back to their own room, they never discuss these nights when they’re both blinded by desire. 

And now they’re laying in the same bed, clutching each other as if the moment will fade away into obscurity, like this will become just another aching memory of what could have been. The ram suddenly breaks their embrace and sits up, Q looks at him devastated, like he’s pulled the rug out from under him. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” His voice has never been so soft.

Schlatt kicks his shoes off and removes his jacket, letting them both fall to the floor with a soft thud. He unbuttons his shirt and undoes the buckle on his belt before sliding his slacks off and tossing them both to the side. Quackity’s heart races, he thinks back to every night of angrily taking one another to the bed and losing themselves in the sheets; nothing happens though. He lays back down into the comfort of the soft mattress beneath their tired bodies and once again pulls his husband flush against his chest. Q thinks he might die, the warm skin beneath his fingers brings him close to tears. 

“Do you still love me?” He asks again.

“Yes.” Quackity whispers, there’s no hesitation this time.

“How?”

“How could I not?” 

The answer sends a shiver down Schlatt’s spine, the embers in his chest once again flicker to life. There could be love here, real love, and if he plays his cards right he can nurse it back to health.


	7. Cute Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been busy with some domestic projects and writing in my free time. This chapter was kind of difficult for me purely because I had to do a lot of thinking about what direction I wanted to take this story; I hope you all enjoy it regardless!

“Do you think… There’s a way we could make this work?”

“In all honesty I don’t know.” Quackity nuzzles his face into the ram’s soft chest. “You understand why I’m hesitant, right? You get why this is hard for me?”

“Yeah… I do.”

“You ruined everything we worked for. You pushed me around and yelled at me, you hurt me in a way I don’t think I’ll ever heal from completely. I can’t just forget all of that because you suddenly want to make things right.”

Schlatt lets out a soft sigh. This isn’t going to be easy, he never expected it to, but being reminded of his downfall still hurts. 

“Sure, maybe you’re sober and you don’t argue with me all the time… Maybe you actually care about me, but how am I supposed to know? I fell for it the first time, who says I won’t fall for it again?” 

“I did love you. I swear to God I loved you, at every turn I loved you.”

“It didn’t seem like it.”

“I know.”

They fall back into silence, holding each other in the dark. There are countless thoughts racing through their heads, so many things they want to say to one another, and yet to ruin the quiet comfort of this moment feels almost sacrilegious. There will always be time to argue, to rehash old disagreements and problems; they’ve done that more than anything else. Instead they allow the warmth under the covers sink into their bodies, there’s no harm in savoring one of the few calm moments they’ve ever shared. 

Schlatt takes Quackity’s chin between his thumb and pointer finger, he gently tilts his face up and parts his lips with a soft kiss. The world melts away; it’s just the two of them, cheeks dusted pink with heat and desire. 

“Can you do that again?” 

It doesn’t take much convincing, he’s wrapped around his lover’s thumb. Quackity could ask him to walk to the ends of the Earth and he would say yes without a second thought, so he doesn’t think. He kisses him again, this time with slightly more force, his self control reaches an all time low. Q brings a hand up behind his ear at the base of his horn and pulls at Schlatt’s hair, the response he gets is heavenly. The ram lets out a soft, low groan, he can feel the vibration hum between their chests. Typically this is where he gets angry, where he feels the need to assert dominance. He hates being vulnerable and unprotected, but for once he leans into the touch and lets his guard down; he’s putty in Quackity’s hands. 

When he tells Schlatt to lay on his back he agrees and when he brings the ram’s hands up to hold his waist he knows not to let go. The large man looks almost embarrassed beneath him, he sheepishly cracks a half smile before looking away.

“You look nervous, is everything okay?”

“Yeah I just… Y’know… No one’s ever seen me like this before.”

“Oh my God, you’re a virgin? That sucks.” Quackity teases him gently.

“You know damn well that isn’t true!” He quips back.

“Mhmm… Well, for your sake we can pretend you’re a virgin.”

“That’s not what I’m suggesting you little shit!” Schlatt laughs beneath him, his embarrassment seems to slowly ebb away as they playfully argue. 

They make love. It’s quiet and careful, there’s no scratching and biting and bruising, just gentle laughter and occasionally fumbling over one another to get a better grip on their lover’s body. It’s breathless and sweet; there is no expectation for either man to wordlessly leave the room. They simply fall asleep in the warm cocoon of bedsheets, legs tangled together and arms haphazardly cast over each other’s chest. 

Morning light gently rouses them from their dreams, small particles of dust dance in the shafts of sunlight cast across the room. They wearily rub their half lidded eyes, sweaty skin sticks together from a night of motionless and well deserved rest, fabric leaves small creases and indents on their backs. Quackity sleepily drags his body from bed and starts getting ready for another long day of political duties, something’s off, Schlatt can feel it in the quiet air that hangs between them. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, the fear he feels is immeasurable and all consuming; what could have gone wrong between last night and this morning? He was so careful, so soft, so gentle, so calculated in his every word and action. 

“Is something the matter?” He props himself up on his elbows and follows Q around the room with his eyes as he digs through drawers for a clean pair of pants.

“No, it’s fine.” It’s not fine.

“Seriously, what happened? Did you have a bad dream or something?” Schlatt presses further into the open wound festering beneath his fingertips.

“Like I said, it’s fine.” It’s not.

“Duckling-”

“Don’t call me that!” Quackity snaps and spins to face him, he grips his pants in balled fists. “You haven’t called me that in years. Don’t start again now.” 

“What the fuck is going on? What’s wrong with you?”

He looks away to the floor. “I think… I think last night was a mistake.”

Oh, that hurts. It hurts so bad that it forces the air from his lungs and causes angry tears to well up in his eyes. “Surely you must be joking. You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.” He begs.

“I’m not joking, I don’t know what to tell you. I just… I got caught up in the moment. Everything was so warm, so soft, so dark, I wanted to have what we never had the chance to.” Quackity continues getting dressed as he speaks, he buttons his shirt and poorly fastens his tie. 

Schlatt pushes the covers off and tugs his boxers on, he’s not going down without a fight. “We still have that chance-”

Q opens the bedroom door and starts descending the stairs, the conversation is over. He has no energy left to argue with the ram, no energy to push and poke and prod at each other until one of them snaps beneath the pressure. He’s so fucking sick of this flat circle they live in; falling in and out of love just as quickly as the moon is full and then empty once more. Sure, Schlatt is sober and owning up to past mistakes, his touch has softened but how long will it last? How long will he put on that gentle face and kind eyes before returning to his tried and true ways of violence, of tyranny, of greed. His thoughts bounce violently back and forth between loving and hating the animal that’s possessed his heart, the same man who has time and time again proven he can’t be trusted. Quackity shakes his head in silent frustration, he’s sick and tired of his own inability to resist, an inability to see the façade before it’s too late. 

Schlatt grabs his arm as he reaches the bottom step and tugs at Q to face him. “Please, please- I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” 

“You already did all the wrong in the world, how am I supposed to live through it again? If you betray me, if you leave me, if you decide I’m more fun as a toy rather than a lover?”

The words are searing and potent, he lets go of his grip around the smaller man’s arm and stands defeated on the stairs. “So, what am I meant to do? Do you want me to leave?”

“I- I don’t know Schlatt.” He pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers and sighs. “Just- fucking let me go to work and we can talk later. I don’t have the time or the energy to argue right now, okay? Jesus. You never know when to stop.”

Quackity opens the door to a small brunette boy in a finely pressed suit, hand frozen mid-knock on the already open entryway. The three of them make tense and hurried eye contact, Q attempts to shove Schlatt up the stairs but the damage has already been done. There’s no more hiding.


	8. High to Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take your time with this one folks, it's a doozy.

Tubbo stares on in silent shock as he watches Quackity attempt to push the large ram up the staircase. They’re still bickering even as panic slowly envelops and consumes the space between them. 

“Sch- Schlatt?” He finally manages to speak, his tiny voice shakes with fear and apprehension. Never did he imagine having to see the giant tyrant before him again, not after everything he did.

“Oh… Hey kiddo.” Schlatt nervously rubs the back of his head and closes his eyes in a forced smile.

“You- you can’t be alive. Surely I’m hallucinating right now. I- I need to get Fundy- or anyone who can make sense of this.” 

“No!” Quackity suddenly butts in. “I can explain, well, kind of. Just- please- don’t do anything rash Tubbo.” 

“You’re asking me to…?” He prompts.

“Come inside, please, I’ll get you a cup of tea and we can talk this out like rational people.”

“Surely you understand why I can’t do that, Big Q.” Tubbo shuffles his feet nervously beneath him. “Schlatt ruined everything we had worked for, as a country, as a cabinet. And to see you housing a fugitive, a criminal, that’s… well, it’s quite a shock.” 

“No, no, I get that, I do, but please,” he begs, “don’t hurt him.”

“That’s… Not really a promise I can make.” He stands up straight in an attempt to look more commanding, “Schlatt, if you come with me without putting up a fuss this will be a lot easier, and Big Q, you’re going to be under house arrest while we figure out what to do with the two of you.” 

The rug is suddenly pulled out from under them, there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, their sins lay completely visible under the morning light. This moment right here, this is the scariest thing they could have ever imagined, being unwillingly pulled apart once more, for the fourth time. Quackity turns back to look at Schlatt who simply gives a small but knowing nod; this may very well be the last time they ever see one another. He reluctantly steps down past Q who reaches for his hand, their fingers brush against each other momentarily before the door is shut between them and they’re once again on opposite ends of the Earth, or so it feels. 

Quackity breaks down instantly and violently, head cradled in his hands as he sits on the bottom step sobbing. He takes ragged and shaky breaths between anguished cries, _God, if I hadn’t been so fucking stupid, maybe it could’ve been different this time._ He gives in to what he’s been avoiding all along; they always end up in the same place, whether they want to or not. It hurts the worst right now, knowing that this was the last chance they ever had to attain some sort of normalcy. They were working through it, even if it was going to be slow and painful and heartbreaking, they were going to get through it the same way they always have, together. Schlatt was atoning for his mistakes, he was making an effort to be kinder, softer, more gentle, and even if Q didn’t want to admit that it was working, it was. But he was scared, mortified even at the idea of going through all that suffering all over again just to be fooled once more. It felt genuine this time, like it could work, like they could be together the way people are supposed to; because they want to. God, he wanted to. He still wants to be with Schlatt. All the fucked up shit they did to each other, the betrayals, the fighting, the falling out, all of it is suddenly for naught, and he hates it.

And now he’s stuck in his stupid empty house all alone again, there’s no one on the face of the planet who would be willing to help him get Schlatt back and he knows damn well he can’t do it alone. So what is there to do? 

Give up?

Give in?

Let go? 

Move on? 

Each option seems equally as heart wrenchingly painful as the last. Every fiber of his being aches with an emptiness he grew accompanied to over the months where Schlatt was laying still under layers of soil, it comes back with a fervor and bloodlust he never thought possible. He claws at his chest with white knuckles and prays to whatever God that may be out there to put him out of his misery, to forget this all consuming love that has time and time again left him burnt and bruised. 

Days pass in a quiet blur, all he can do is lay in bed with his face buried in one of Schlatt’s old shirts. Sometimes Fundy comes by to make sure he’s still breathing, presumably. He never tells Quackity what’s going on, if Schlatt is alive, when he can leave his house again, it’s all confidential right now. Ducky frequently hops up on the bed and presses her tiny body against his when he cries, she purrs comfortingly against his chest until he calms down and allows Q to clumsily run his fingers through her soft dark fur. She’s the only thing keeping him alive at this point, the anxiety and fear of not knowing is driving him mad. It’s the same madness that drove him to revive Schlatt in the first place, but there won’t be another resurrection if he really is dead, it’s a one time deal, a single additional life. 

There’s a quiet unspoken truth he shares within the walls of his empty house; if Schlatt is dead he’ll kill himself. He knows he can’t go back to living without him, not after being so agonizingly, tantalizingly close to having some kind of normal relationship. Every time he thinks about the single night they were able to share in the same bed kissing, making love and laughing he feels sick. It becomes just another aching memory shelved with every other aching memory he keeps locked away in the vault. 

A knock on the door momentarily pulls him from his downward spiral. He somehow manages to drag his heavy body from the cold comfort of his empty bed and down the stairs. The bags under his eyes are deeper than any wound he’s ever sustained, his hair is matted and unkempt. The door opens to Fundy who stands holding a clipboard and a cup of coffee.

“Hey Big Q, do you mind if I come in for a second and ask you a few questions?” He takes a sip of his drink. “Also, you look like shit man, maybe consider eating or taking a shower.” He lets himself in by stepping past an unmoving Quackity. 

“Yeah, well, it hasn’t been so great being all alone here.” He shuffles behind the fox into the kitchen where they both take a seat at opposite ends of the table. “Is he okay? Is he alive?” Quackity asks with careful hesitation.

“I can’t say much right now, but hopefully this should all be over soon.” Fundy shuffles the papers on his clipboard before taking a pen out of his breast pocket and writing a couple things down. 

“What does that mean? ‘All be over soon’?” He feels his anxiety come roaring back to life.

“Look, I just need to ask you some questions and I’ll be out of your hair. You know I can’t answer the things you ask, you’re wasting your time.” 

Quackity sighs. “Okay, whatever.”

“M’kay, first order of business. When did Schlatt come back, and how did this happen?”

“Don’t you already know this shit? Surely you’ve already asked him all the same questions.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Fuck you.”

Fundy sighs and looks up from his clipboard. “Quackity, the easier you make this the sooner it’s over.” 

“What’s over!” He shouts and stands up from his seat, it pushes out from under him with a squeak. His body shakes under renewed anger, balled fists pressed against the counter top. “You guys won’t tell me anything, I’m in the dark! Is my husband dead or not!” Frustrated tears spill down his cheeks and land on the wooden table, he’s losing himself to fear again.

“Quackity, Big Q, take a couple deep breaths and sit down. Please, I promise I’m just doing my job. If I could tell you anything, I would, but as it stands you were housing a presumed dead tyrant, you see where the issue lies in that, yes?”

He reluctantly nods.

“So let’s just get this over with as smoothly as possible.”

Q hesitantly sits back down in his chair, weak sobs still shake his body.

“Okay, let’s try again. When did Schlatt come back and how did it happen.”

“I resurrected him, I stole some of Techno’s weird old tomes that he kept in his basement and put them to good use, better than collecting dust in that freak’s house.”

Fundy scribbles some things down on the paper.

“He was here for… three days before I ran into Tubbo on my way out.”

“Were you planning on telling anyone?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t even know how. He sucks, he’s a piece of work. He hurt everyone who was ever close to him and everyone who he never even met. He always held people at arm’s length, myself included.”

“You’re getting off track, were you planning on telling anyone.”

“I guess, yeah. We couldn’t live in secret forever, but it had only been a few days, I wasn’t even thinking about trying to reintroduce him to anyone yet. I had barely even come to terms with the fact that he was alive again.”

“You talk about him like he’s a dog in behavioral correction, but he’s a tyrant.” 

_A dog in behavioral correction… Is that all this has been?_

Has he just been wasting his time on a fruitless effort? Surely not, surely there’s something more to them, to this, to the long talks and heated arguments and lingering touches. Quackity thinks about holding Schlatt’s face in his hands, cheeks cupped under his palms; about kissing and giggling like teenagers; about laying in each other’s arms; about having what he’s always wanted. 

Love.

Fundy gently taps the end of his pen on the table. “Hey, Quackity, you didn’t answer the question.”

He snaps out of his stupor and rubs his eyes with shaky hands. “Sorry, what was the question. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“How many lives does he have, as things stand?”

It’s a loaded question, he can feel it. “One. The book, at least I think, it very specifically outlined the terms of the magic, one extra life.”

“Well,” Fundy stands from his chair, “thank you for being honest with me. I’ll go run this past Tubbo and get back to you soon.”

“Get back to me about what?” Q turns in his chair to watch the fox leave the room.

“Again, I’m not allowed to answer that. Just, eat something, seriously. And take a shower.” He gives a half hearted wave before closing the door behind him.

Quackity is once again left alone in the empty house. He’s reluctant to call it a home, at this point it feels more like a prison. He so badly wants to know whether or not Schlatt is alive, if he’s warm and breathing or stone cold laying on the floor somewhere. If he has to see the ram’s lifeless corpse another time he’ll lose it; not necessarily his sanity since that’s been thrown out the window long ago, but more so his will to live. He’s been treading in dark water for the last week, every hour wears him down just a little bit more until he’s gasping for air above the cold ocean between waves that seem to endlessly crash over his frail body. 

He eventually finds the energy to ascend the stairs once more and climb back into the empty bed. Ducky lays on the pillow next to his, her body rhythmically rises and falls with her soft breathing. Q lets the hypnotic motion of the cat lull him to a restless sleep, he dreams about Schlatt.

They sit on an unfamiliar rooftop overlooking an unnamed city, Quackity rests his head in the ram’s lap and lets the cool autumn breeze play with his hair. Large fluffy clouds roll overhead, they’re lit with the last rays of sunset; the stars are just making their first appearance of the night. It feels eerily similar to an old memory he let grow foggy with age, a memory of dangling their legs between a rusty railing, of brushing their hands together, of kissing.

“Will you be able to live without me?” Schlatt’s image suddenly breaks the calm silence between them.

Q opens his eyes to look up at the man who sits above him, gaze fixed out over the skyline. “No, I won’t.”

“Not even if I really wanted you to?”

“Not even if you really wanted me to.”

He reaches for the apparition of his husband and takes his hand, it’s warm and soft. He brings it to his lips and presses a gentle kiss into his palm, Schlatt looks down at him with that kind face he’s gotten so good at lately. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that then.” 

“Yeah, let's hope so.” His voice is barely a whisper.

They return to the quiet comfort of cloud watching and appreciate the last specks of sunlight until the sky grows dark. 

When he wakes to the empty bed it’s as if the world is crumbling around him, like every bit of light has been snuffed out until he’s alone, curled into himself and trembling.


	9. Famous Prophets (Stars)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have such a soft spot for c!Schlatt, can you fools tell yet?

Tubbo leads Schlatt through the back streets and alleys of town, they avoid open spaces out of caution; if anyone were to see the presumably deceased man, who knows what would happen. Early autumn air sends chills across his bare arms, he regrets not taking the time to grab a jacket on his way out. 

Ah, his way out…

Quackity’s hand barely grazing across his in a desperate attempt to save him, the single knowing look they shared on the staircase, the fear and panic in his husband’s eyes as he stepped down past him. 

God only knows what Tubbo will do to him, though, he can’t imagine it’ll be all that violent. He’s just a kid, he doesn’t have it in him to be cruel. Maybe he’ll hire a hitman, or execute him, or exile him to the ends of the Earth without hope to ever see Quackity again. Every option seems just as hopeless as the last, maybe he’s doomed to keep dying alone. 

Maybe it’s destiny. 

“You were awfully cooperative, that’s out of character for you.” Tubbo looks over his shoulder to make sure Schlatt is still following him through the winding alleyway.

“Well, I was always playing a character to begin with.” 

Tubbo trips over a stray box while he’s focused on the man behind him, Schlatt grabs the back of his collar and gently tugs him upright. In the split second he’s in contact with the tiny boy he instinctively brings his arms up in defense and cowers in fear. All the ram can do is stand there with his hands in his pockets, awkwardly looking up at the overcast sky; he has no idea what to say in this situation, he’s never been great at comforting people. Tubbo’s right to cower, he’s right to be scared, he’s right to be hesitant and afraid of the tyrant who hurt him, who could blame him? After a few tense moments he slowly begins to lower his arms and dust off the front of his jacket in an attempt to regain composure. 

“Sorry.” Schlatt offers weakly, “I didn’t mean to startle you. Just figured you wouldn’t wanna fall flat on your ass.” 

Tubbo gives a small nod before continuing to lead them through the alley. Never in his life could he have imagined Schlatt doing something, dare he say, _nice_ for him. It’s strange, but for once he doesn’t give off that awful threatening aura, he just seems… normal, maybe tired. 

The rest of the walk to the Capitol is fairly uneventful, sometimes a flock of birds flies overhead, the bustle of people can be heard faintly in the distance. He realizes how much he hates this city, how much the past weighs on his shoulders- as it should. He’s made every mistake under the sun, there’s really no avoiding that, but how to atone for those sins is something he’s yet to learn. All he knows to do right now is be patient, allow the people he hurt to be angry with him, let them unload their frustrations and disappointment. So far it’s been working, at least he thinks so. 

Schlatt’s unsurprised to see that the Capitol has been rebuilt, it looks infinitely better than what he had constructed. He remembers his hurried and poorly built White House, how the foundation was uneven and began sinking almost immediately, how the floors were slanted, how his large room had strange acoustics, how the hot water sometimes didn’t work, how the building itself predicted his imminent demise. Tubbo leads him around the side of the large structure to a back entrance, he fiddles with a small keyring hooked onto one of his belt loops before unlocking the heavy iron door and motioning for Schlatt to follow. The basement of the building has been built on the old foundation of the previous Capitol. Although it’s been repaired so that it no longer sinks, he can tell that the floors are still a bit uneven.

“Are you gonna let me rot in some weird prison you’ve got down here?” His voice echoes off the walls.

“Oh, Gosh no. We don’t even have a prison, at least not that I know of. I am going to have you stay in an extra room down here, at least for the time being.” He thinks for a moment, “I’m not sure if I should be divulging this information, but I truly have no idea what to do with you.” 

Schlatt can’t help but give a half hearted chuckle, he’s honest if nothing else. “I think that’s okay. I’d be in the same position if I were you.”

Tubbo leads them down the familiar hallway and pushes open the one door he wishes the kid hadn’t, it’s his old room. 

“Are the acoustics still shit in here?” His voice reverberates and comes back to him in strange waves. “Ah, yeah I guess so.” 

“Forgive me for this, but I’m not sure what else to do.” Tubbo closes one end of a pair of handcuffs around his right wrist, the other end is fastened to a fairly long chain that connects with the far left wall. It has enough length that he can move about the room freely but pulls taught when he reaches the door. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have a prison down here.” He tries to make light of the situation but it falls flat.

“This was already here, actually.” 

“That’s a good one Tubbo, but not very funny.” 

“I’m not joking.” 

Schlatt furrows his brow in a moment of deep thought, he sits on the edge of his old bed and tries to recall ever installing something weird like this.

Nothing comes to him. 

“U-um, I remember why you had it put in, if you want me to jog your memory?” Tubbo offers, he must see the concerned, almost panicked look on his face. The ram only nods in quiet agreement. “I’m not sure how much you recall, but you used to get drunk a lot and make some really… poor decisions, to say the least. I think you got scared that you would hurt someone, mostly Quackity, in one of your drunken stupors.”

“I…” He trails off, the dots begin connecting in his mind. “I had a restraint put in so I couldn’t leave the room when I was beyond fucked up?”

He nods. “Yep. I’m not sure how you forgot about that though.” 

“Well, some things are a bit fuzzy. I can remember big events, important moments, shitty things I did, but there are definitely some gaps here and there.” He rests his hand on his chin in quiet contemplation. 

“I have a meeting to attend, but I’ll come discuss some things with you after. Please just stay put, I don’t want this to be harder than it has to be.” 

“Go to your meeting Big Man, I’ll be here waiting.” He motions for the kid to go on his way. 

Tubbo gently shuts the door behind him on his way out. Now it’s just Schlatt and his old room, he hates this place. He feels suffocated by these walls, even more so than he felt suffocated by the casket his lifeless corpse was stuck in for months on end. Nothing has changed, at least not that he can immediately see; his dresser and nightstand are covered in a layer of dust but seem otherwise untouched. The closet doors sit closed on their hinges, the bedside lamp is turned on in a low orange glow that fills the room, the ensuite bathroom is covered floor to ceiling in the same white porcelain it always was. 

His claw footed bathtub brings a flood of memories back to him, of sitting in a drunken haze as Quackity attempted to clean his wounds after a fight broke out at the bar. He felt pitiful, weak and painfully seen. This was not the persona he puts up, this was not the character he played, this was not the powerful business man who ruled with an iron fist; this was a sad, lonely soul covered in bruises and cuts, waist deep in lukewarm water as his husband did his best to tend to his injuries. 

He remembers sitting quietly in the tub, barely moving, barely breathing, trying to avoid the sad look Q was giving him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He snaps.

“Oh darling, if only you could see the way you look right now.” Quackity gently soothes him.

“I hate that you can see me right now. I hate you for pitying me.” 

Q gives a small laugh before dabbing a shallow cut on his forehead with a wet washcloth. “I know you don’t mean that, you don’t scare me when you’re sitting in a tub of dirty water. You’re just mad that I still love you even when you’re hurt.” 

“Don’t you want someone with power? Someone who can look after you?”

“I don’t mind looking after you. I always have, I think you forget all the trouble you used to get into when we were kids.”

When Quackity is satisfied with his patchwork he helps Schlatt into bed and turns the light off before leaving. Even in these painfully tender moments where they wear their hearts on their sleeves, they can’t bring themselves to sleep in the same bed. Maybe it’s out of fear, out of restraint, out of self preservation. 

He jerks himself back to reality. 

_I hope Quackity is okay_ , he prays to an unknown God that he’s never confided in before.


	10. Hymn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another kind of dialogue heavy chapter, I hope I did Tubbo justice ^_^

There isn’t much for Schlatt to do while he waits for Tubbo’s meeting to be over. He rifles through the drawers of his dust covered nightstand, it’s mostly filled with random trash; empty airplane bottles, pain relievers, crumpled papers, loose pens and pills. Shoved near the back is a worn and faded photo of him and Quackity, it’s been folded into quarters so many times that a prominent crease is permanently worn into the image. They can’t be older than twenty here, they stand in front of the first apartment they rented together. Schlatt has his arm around Q’s shoulders, both men are grinning ear-to-ear at their new found freedom. He quietly folds the photo and shoves it into his pocket for safe keeping, Quackity would probably get a kick out of it.

Eventually there’s a polite knock on the door, it’s opened momentarily after by Tubbo who holds a stack of paperwork in his arms. 

“Sorry that took so long, I wasn’t expecting there to be so much… business.” The boy lets out a soft sigh before setting the pile of papers at a desk pushed against the right wall. 

“That’s what being president is like, yeah. Lots of paperwork and boring meetings.” Schlatt reclines in bed, he sits against the baseboard with his arms behind his head. 

“Now then,” Tubbo pulls out the chair at the desk and takes a seat facing the ram, “I suppose we should discuss what we’re going to do with you.”

Schlatt raises an eyebrow in response.

“You don’t seem very scared, all things considered. I thought you’d at least be a little frightened, but you never were the type to be nervous.” 

“I guess I figured… What’s the worst that can happen? You aren’t a particularly threatening kid, and I’ve died three times already, so what difference does a fourth make?”

“Hm… Well, I can confidently say there are no plans to kill you as things stand.”

“That’s a relief. What _are_ you planning to do then?” He leans forward in quiet curiosity.

“I don’t know Schlatt, what do _you_ think I should do with the former tyrant who ruined this country?” He presses.

“Probably kill me. I mean, not that I want you to, but that would be my instinct.”

“It’s good to see your self deprecating jokes haven’t changed. I think for now, we’ll keep you here as a sort of… quarantine trial run.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean that until I can guarantee this country’s safety, you’re going to live in this room.”

“What about Quackity?” That’s his main concern right now, how his husband is holding up.

“Big Q is on house arrest as you know, I’ll have Fundy check in on him every day to make sure he isn’t up to anything suspicious either.”

“I’m more concerned about him being alive than committing crimes on my behalf.” 

Tubbo’s forced stoicism is finally broken, the circumstances begin to dawn on him. “Were you and Quackity… y’know, together?” He asks hesitantly. Typically Schlatt responds negatively to invasive personal questions or avoids them altogether, but he’s feeling daring with the once dead man chained up at arm's length. 

Schlatt takes a moment to think, choosing his words carefully. “You know we’re married, right?”

“Well yeah, but I thought that was just for diplomacy sake, I didn’t think there was anything between you two.”

Was their relationship really that outwardly loveless? Was it that impossible to detect the fact that at one point, they were actually in love? Did everyone think their marriage was a sham from the beginning, just a ploy for more political power and improved social standing? Or maybe it was the fact that they only shared the occasional tender moment in private, behind closed doors where no one would be privy to seeing Schlatt’s high class persona pushed to the side. 

“No, there was a time when we were in love.” He admits solemnly.

Tubbo is taken aback by his sudden honesty. They never had candid talks, at best they were extremely rare. Sometimes he could catch the man off guard when he was a bit tipsy and in a good mood, but otherwise he kept his distance from the former President entirely. “I don’t think I would’ve ever guessed that.”

“Why’s that?” He knows the answer already.

“I mean… you know why I’m sure, you guys didn’t exactly have the most romantic relationship. At least not the relationship that the public was able to see. Whatever you two did behind closed doors is a mystery, and I’d like to keep it that way I think.” 

Schlatt laughs, the kid’s damn funny when he isn’t even trying. “Maybe I’ll tell you when you’re older kiddo.”

Tubbo adjusts slightly in his seat. “Say, Schlatt, you seem different.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah. You were always pushing the cabinet members around and getting drunk and yelling but you seem much quieter, more relaxed I guess.”

“Dying does that to you.”

Now it’s the kid’s turn to laugh, and he does. He laughs until there are tears in his eyes and for a second they almost devolve into genuine tears; he wishes this Schlatt had been around when Wilbur was busy blowing up the country, when things were falling apart, when he inherited the responsibility of putting it back together. 

Maybe they could’ve been friends.

After he’s composed himself he stands from his chair and picks up the stack of paperwork again. “I have a lot of work to do, but I’ll send Fundy down with something to eat in a bit, and maybe I’ll come talk to you some more later.” The smile on his face is genuine.

“Sounds like a plan. Tell Fundy to bring me something good, I’ll be real pissed if you give me some shitty prison food.”

Tubbo nods and leaves the room once more. 

The days pass almost agonizingly slowly, all he can do is walk circles around his room and wait for the couple of times a day that Tubbo comes to chat. Their conversations are always pleasant, the kid seems to avoid more serious topics and instead makes comfortable small talk until he’s once again pulled away by his presidential duties. A week goes by and it seems like his stay in the Capitol will never end, he’s getting tired of being locked in this shit room, but most of all he’s worried about Quackity. Tubbo assures him everyday that he’s okay, but Q isn’t aware of the fact that Schlatt is still alive. They argue briefly about it, he explains that it’s cruel to not let him know of his safety but Tubbo insists that the consequences of Schlatt’s death are what he’s interested in. 

“If you were to die, I want to know what that would mean.” He gestures wildly with his hands as he talks.

Schlatt paces back and forth in frustration. “No- I get that, but it’s kind of fucked up that you aren’t telling Quackity I’m alive. Do you not see that?”

“I’m sorry, I really am, I know he’s having a rough time, but I have to be sure that there’s nothing else going on here. You understand my hesitation, surely.”

He sighs in defeat and sits on the edge of the bed. “How much longer are you planning on keeping me prisoner?”

“Well, I just sent Fundy out with some questions to ask Big Q. If his answers match yours, I don’t see the point in keeping you here any longer. I’m not particularly pleased with you being alive, but I can’t hold you here forever. If you pose no genuine threat then I’m obligated to release you.”

“So what’s the timeline we’re looking at here?” 

“If all goes well, I can take you back tomorrow.”

A sudden hope rises to attention and washes over him in a warm wave, he could be going back to Quackity sooner rather than later, and yet there are still concerns about what comes next. “What’s the plan after that though, there’s no way people are going to be happy I’m back.”

Tubbo places a hand on his cheek and thinks for a moment. “There’s an old abandoned house a bit outside of the city limits, if you two wanted to move in there I think it would be a lot safer. I’m not formally exiling you or revoking either of your citizenships, but I would strongly suggest you consider it.” 

“What about Quackity’s job as Vice President?”

“I won’t require Big Q to step down, it’s up to him whether or not he wants to continue.”

He lets out a gentle, relieved sigh. For once things seem like they might work out, like maybe they have a chance at the life they always wanted to lead; quiet and together.

“Hey Schlatt, can I ask you a question?” Tubbo anxiously wrings his wrists, he stands near the door as if he may need to run out at any second.

“Shoot kid.”

The little brunette looks up at him with those big brown puppy eyes, the words seem to be caught in his throat for a second. “Why did you kill me?”

The room goes silent, any good graces between them are severed immediately. Schlatt takes a deep breath between his teeth, what could he possibly say to justify his actions. Of course he already knows it wasn’t justified, you can’t _kill a kid_ and make an excuse for it. Maybe he wasn’t the one to pull the trigger, maybe he wasn’t the one who was being traitorous, maybe he had been killed in the crossfire too, but none of those things make any difference now. He breaks eye contact and nervously rubs at the base of his horns, the image of Tubbo trapped in the box on stage comes back to him at full force. The fear and panic in the kid’s eyes, the tremble in his voice, the way he had trusted Schlatt would never hurt him like that, the sudden resignation to his fate. 

“My head wasn’t on right.” He admits. “I… I don’t know what was wrong with me, obviously something.” His mouth goes dry. “I’m sorry Tubbo. I’m sorry I did that to you, you didn’t deserve the brunt of my anger.” 

Tubbo nods, a couple of quiet tears slip down his cheeks as he attempts to give a reassuring smile. “It’s okay Schlatt, I forgive you. Everyone knew you had problems, we just didn’t know how to help you.”

“It wouldn’t have been your job to help me in the first place, kid. And you don’t have to forgive me either, I don’t expect that of you. You could hate me until the day I die, you could kill me yourself if you wanted and that would be a reasonable decision based on all the shit I did to you, to everyone.”

“No… I don’t want to hurt you. I’m tired of people fighting, it’s all anyone seems to do these days…” He trails off apparently lost in thought. “I have some business to take care of, but I’ll let you know tomorrow morning if you can go home.”

When Schlatt eventually falls asleep that night all he can dream about is holding Quackity in his arms.


	11. You're in Love With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely the longest chapter thus far, take your time with it!
> 
> Also, to quickly clarify, this is not the last chapter <3

Schlatt has been awake for hours by the time dawn finally rises in L’Manberg, how could he ever bring himself to sleep with the possibility of going home being a reality? All he can think about is holding his husband, about kissing him, about feeling his soft skin beneath his fingers. He’s gone through the motions of their reunion easily hundreds of times now; Q comes to the door with sleep still on his face and rubs his eyes with the back of his hands before realizing this is more than just a dream. He throws himself into Schlatt's arms and they stand in the doorway embracing until they forget who they are, until they’re blubbering and mumbling sweet nothings and ‘I love you’ to each other over and over again. 

How long has it been since he said ‘I love you’ to Quackity?

How long has it been since Quackity said ‘I love you’ to him?

He remembers the first time he uttered those words, soft and warm, laced with bourbon and whiskey. 

They sit side by side at the bar, drunkenly lifting their glasses and ordering another round even though they’re beyond intoxicated at this point. Q clumsily rests his head on his shoulder and presses a gentle but hungry kiss against his neck, every molecule of heat in his body rises to his face in a red hot blush that spreads across his cheeks. The warmth slowly moves its way down to his chest and ignites a fire in his stomach, he’s never felt this way before. He moves one hand to the inside of Quackity’s thigh and grips it for dear life, he’s positive he’ll start melting at any second. 

“Quackity-” He can barely get the words out, his voice is raspy and low.

“What? ‘S that too much? ‘Yer the one with your hand on my thigh…” He mumbles incoherently.

The low lighting in the room gives them enough privacy to fool around a bit before finally stumbling out the doors and managing to call a cab. 

They live in the same apartment; every day is another series of lingering touches and longing looks. They want each other, the same way they wanted each other when they were teenagers, but this time it’s with a fervor and desperation they’re unaccustomed to. They had kissed once or twice as kids but immediately forgotten about it and shelved the memory away with every other moment where they leaned just a little too far into the fire. They’ve been burnt so many times it’s hard to remember now; they are both inexplicably drawn to each other and yet constantly pushing away. 

By the time they make it home the moment has passed and they’re too tired to do anything besides crash on the couch in each other’s arms, Schlatt mumbles something into Quackity’s ear that makes him bury his face into the other man’s chest. 

“I love you.” The words are slurred together and barely recognizable.

In the morning the ram will wake to a throbbing headache, an upset stomach, and an empty space where Q had fallen asleep the night before. They won’t talk about it, they never do.

Schlatt shakes his head in an attempt to forget the aching pain of those memories, of the countless years they spent trying to pretend there was nothing between them. Originally they had gotten married for diplomacy sake, Tubbo was right to assume that, but it had quickly devolved into something more, something uncontrollable and all consuming. 

And now as the angst of their youth slowly burns out it is replaced by a love that feels sustainable, genuine and manageable. 

A gentle knock on the door tears him away from his reminiscing and pulls him back to reality, Tubbo enters holding an umbrella and the key to his restraint. 

“I’m sure you already know what this means. I’m taking you home.” He unlocks the handcuff that Schlatt’s been perpetually wearing for the last week, there’s a small indent from where it sat unmoving. 

He rubs his wrist and feels the weight of his freedom sink into his tired mind. He can go home, he can see his husband. 

The nightmare is finally over. 

Tubbo once again leads him through back alleys and old unused streets, they’re careful to not run into anyone, though the odds seem low given the poor weather. Schlatt holds the umbrella over the two of them as they walk side by side, the kid seems much more relaxed now. They make pleasant conversation and even share a few laughs, it feels comfortable, friendly even. 

When they make it home Tubbo stops at the end of the walkway, “I think it’d be better if you went up alone. I don’t want to intrude on anything.” He sheepishly rubs the back of his head and offers a hand. 

“To new beginnings I guess.” He takes the young man’s hand and firmly shakes it. 

“To new beginnings.” 

Tubbo takes the umbrella back from Schlatt and heads off; it’s just him and the rain now. He looks up at the house and suddenly notices everything wrong with the picture before him, all of the blinds are drawn and no light shines from within. A sudden panic washes over him as he runs up to the door and pounds on the worn wood. There’s no sound of movement from the other side, he feels his heart rise to his throat, the world comes crashing down on his shoulders.

“Quackity!” He shouts at the top of his lungs, he doesn’t care if anyone were to hear him at this point. 

He pounds on the door again, this time with even more force and panic, he feels the sturdy surface move beneath his conviction. In a moment of horror he kicks the door in with a slam, it’s ripped from one of the hinges and hangs off slanted towards the ground. Schlatt rushes inside and frantically scans his eyes over the foyer, nothing seems to be immediately disturbed or out of place. The house is still uncomfortably quiet, the only sound he can hear is the pattering of rain against the roof and windows. He slowly makes his way into the kitchen and grabs an umbrella on the way, it might not be the best weapon but it’s better than nothing. A flash of lightning illuminates the room and on the floor he catches a glimpse of a small body curled into itself. 

It’s Quackity.

He’s wearing one of Schlatt’s oversized shirts and clutching a mostly empty bottle of vodka to his chest, the ram sets his makeshift weapon on the kitchen table before kneeling down next to the crumpled body of his husband. He moves a strand of hair out of his face and presses two fingers against his neck, a gentle pulse beats under the warm skin; he finally lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and slumps to the ground. The smell of alcohol radiates towards him in waves, it nearly makes him sick as he recalls every late night spent drinking himself to death. 

Schlatt scoops the small man against his chest and rises to his feet, one of Q’s arms falls limp outside his grasp and the vodka bottle falls to the floor in a crash. It immediately shatters on impact, glass rippling out in all directions in tiny shards. He sighs in defeat knowing he’ll be the one mopping up the sticky alcohol and sweeping the sharp fragments into a pile. Quackity continues to sleep through the momentary commotion and barely stirs at the sound of thunder overhead, he wonders if he’s always been such a heavy sleeper or if it’s just the alcohol keeping him under; most likely the latter. 

He quietly ascends the stairs keeping in mind not to step too heavy, even though he already knows nothing he could do at this point would wake the sleeping beauty, and gently nudges the bedroom door open with his foot before laying his husband on the bed. He turns on the dim lamp that sits on the nightstand and is immediately horrified at the image before him; Quackity’s eyes and cheeks are hollow against his face, his hair is matted and unkempt, his already small body seems even smaller after a week of not eating out of grief. Schlatt grimaces and steps into the bathroom to fill a glass of water, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the sink and realizes he doesn’t look so hot either, though he supposes spending a week in a proverbial lockdown will do that to you. When he steps back into the bedroom Q is attempting to sit up, he props himself on his elbows and drunkenly looks around before his eyes land on the large ram in the doorway.

“Schlatt?” He asks hesitantly, voice dripping with alcohol and sleep.

“Hey Duckling, you don’t look so good.” 

“Are you real? ‘Yer not dead?” 

“No, I’m not dead.” He sits down next to Quackity and rests a hand over his. “You don’t usually like drinking, I’m surprised you managed to down that whole bottle on your own.” His voice is gentle but concerned.

“I was tired.”

“Tired of what?”

“Bein’ alone.” 

The words tumble out of his mouth and hit Schlatt right in the stomach, he feels an all too familiar pain in his chest as he chokes back tears. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Quackity still seems unconvinced that he isn’t dreaming, he leans forward and rests his head against the other man's chest and realizes the warmth beneath him is real. It’s sobering enough to knock him from his drunken stupor and fill him with a momentary burst of energy, he brings his hands up to grip the ram's broad shoulders and lets out a weak cry. 

Schlatt adjusts himself on the squeaky mattress and pulls his husband onto his lap, the smaller man wraps his legs around his waist and sobs desperately into his shoulder. His frame shakes violently beneath wails of anguish and simultaneous relief as he holds on for dear life. He fears that the warm body beneath his will disappear at any second, but it never does. He merely sits and allows Q to cry loudly and uninterrupted while gently rubbing his back. When he finally composes himself enough to look up at his lover he can see faint tear stains coat his cheeks, he laughs a little and holds Schlatt's face in his hands.

“I thought you were fucking dead.” He finally manages to speak.

Schlatt simply gives a slight shake of his head in response.

"So are we- are we okay? Are we in danger?" 

"No, no we aren't in any danger. We can talk about it when you're sober, Duckling." He soothes.

“Then can we take a shower or somethin’? I feel like shit…” 

Schlatt cracks a half smile, “promise you won’t fall over and hit your head?” 

“I won’t if you hold me up.”


	12. Twin Fantasy

They stand skin to skin under the shower head, Schlatt has his arms firmly wrapped around his husband’s waist to prevent him from drunkenly slipping on the slick tile beneath them. Quackity rests his face against the ram’s chest, his wet hair falls onto his forehead and covers his eyes. It’s warm and safe, so unbelievably safe, to stand in the quiet comfort of each other’s embrace and feel the warm water gently pattering against their bodies. He presses a kiss into Q’s wet hair, they sway slightly to a song only they can hear. When the shower finally begins to grow cold they dry themselves off and revel in their clean clothes, it feels indescribably cozy to finally be free of their messy hair and dirty fabric. 

“When did you last eat?” Schlatt questions the obviously starved man.

“I honestly don’t remember, I just couldn’t bring myself to sit at the kitchen table alone.”

“Why don’t we do something about that then, you look like shit.” 

Quackity nods and follows him down the stairs, the front door is still hanging off the hinges and rain water has pooled on the entry mat.

“What the fuck happened to my door?” He looks back at his husband who sheepishly rubs the back of his head and feigns ignorance.

“I kind of busted it down in a moment of panic… I can probably just-” He adjusts the door back upright and forces it closed, it’s held standing by a single set of screws. “There, good as new.”

Q sighs, “I guess that’ll have to do for now.” 

He turns the kitchen lights on and remembers the vodka bottle that had shattered earlier, Quackity pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out an aggravated breath when he sees the glass scattered about. 

“Is this some kind of sick joke? First my door and now a broken bottle?”

“In fairness that one wasn’t my fault, you dropped it while I was carrying you upstairs.” He kneels down to pick up the larger shards and tosses them into the trash. “We can worry about that later, I’m more concerned with you getting something to eat.” 

“Can you just make me some toast or something? I don’t want anything crazy right now.” Q pulls out a chair at the island and takes a seat. He rests his chin in his hands and lightly kicks his feet beneath him. 

Schlatt pulls out the last of the bread and a little jar of jam from the fridge, it’s mostly empty but he’ll make it work. “Do you want anything to drink?” He glances over his shoulder.

“Just water is fine.” Q folds his arms on the counter and rests his head. “What were you saying earlier about talking when I was more sober?”

“Oh, right. Well, we’re not in danger. Tubbo said you can continue your position as the Vice President if you wanted to and that he wouldn’t revoke our citizenships.” He sets a glass of water down in front of Quackity.

“Hm…” Q traces a finger around the rim of the glass. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

“How will we tell people you’re alive? I’m worried about how that would go over…”

“I don’t really think we have to do that. The kid told me about some abandoned house a little outside of the city limits, he suggested we move in there. He wasn’t formally kicking us out or anything but mentioned it might be safer.” 

Quackity’s eyes light up at the thought of renovating a new house, of having a home together. He’s sick of this place, of all the shitty memories and lonely nights spent curled in bed; it haunts him more than any ghost ever could. “That sounds kind of awesome, I’m down for it if you are.”

“I mean, it’d be a lot of work to get it into good condition again but it’s not like we have much else to do, or, at least I don’t have much else to do.” He spreads some jam onto the warm toast and slides the plate to his husband.

Q gratefully accepts the small meal and takes a bite, God he missed eating. “I’ll probably keep my job, I don’t see a reason to step down as things stand. I like L’Manberg, I like working with Tubbo and Fundy, and I think they’d probably do a real shitty job without me.” 

Schlatt takes a seat next to him, “what about us, though? Is this going to work? Can we make it work?”

“I want to.”

“Me too.”

They sit in silence for a bit, the number of times they’ve had honest, candid talks about their feelings for each other is fewer than can be counted on a single hand. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is mostly uncharted territory for two men who’ve been pushing the undeniable truth away from themselves for decades. 

“What about all the fucked up shit I did to you? Can you really just forgive me and move past it?”

“Forgive is a strong word, I’m never going to heal completely from some of those arguments we had… But I want to make new memories with you.” He pulls his attention away from his meal to look at Schlatt. “You know I love you. I always have.”

“I know.”

“Say it. You’ve said it once before, I remember it.”

“I was hoping you’d have forgotten the first time that happened…”

“How could I forget the only time you’ve ever told me you love me?” 

Has it really only been once? The amount of times he’s wanted to say it obviously far outnumbers the single utterance he’s managed. Schlatt almost chokes on the words, they momentarily catch in his throat. Not because he doesn’t mean it, not because it isn’t true, but because the weight behind them is far greater than any other phrase on Earth. 

“I love you.”

“Do you?” Q presses, he wants to hear those words again.

“I do. I love you, I’m in love with you.” 

That’s all it takes for Quackity to become a blubbering mess at the kitchen counter. He’s hungry and tired and still a little tipsy; three words are enough to get him to sob. Maybe it’s due to the fact he’s been waiting to hear them for so long, maybe it’s because they feel so genuine, so real, maybe it’s his touch starved body propelling him forward to press a messy kiss against Schlatt’s lips. 

Maybe it’s just love.

After Q finishes his toast they head back upstairs to appease their tired bodies looking for rest. There’s a quiet pact between them to ignore the broken bottle and barely standing door out of exhaustion. Schlatt replaces the old sheets with new ones while Quackity lights a single candle on the nightstand; at long last they’re able to slump into bed together again. 

There was love between them years ago, maybe at some point; it was dim and snuffed out easily. But now, now that there’s a second chance, another shot at fanning that flame into a roaring fire, they take it and hold each other closer than they ever have. Schlatt wouldn’t blame Quackity if he never loved him again, if he killed him at this very moment, but the moment passes without anything happening besides their soft breathing; it devolves into laughs and choked sobs and holding each others faces in their hands, feeling their skin warm and untouched for all this time, clambering to get a better grip on their lover's body. 

It’s real love this time, it’s a flame that won't go out, it’s a happiness that's sustainable.


	13. Those Boys (Epilogue)

It’s been a year since they moved into the new house together. There were a lot of renovations to be made; repainting the outside and most of the inside, gutting various rooms and completely redoing them, pulling the garden apart and putting it back together, arguing over furniture and various home decor. It was almost silly how domestic they had become simply by having to redo a house, their small spats were never more than just little disagreements in paint colors or furniture placements. For the first time in their entire lives they share a bedroom, every night they have the pleasure of crawling under the covers and fooling around like teenagers. 

They can't help but wonder if this love was there all along, buried deep inside under all the façades and business talk. They still have nightmares; some days are worse than others but it’s manageable. They give each other space and talk when they need to, they’re patient and understanding of the fact that they did, for all intents and purposes, fuck each other over again and again. Sometimes there are tears, but there’s no anger, no spite, no malice, just comforting embraces and soft kisses. 

In the summer they work in the garden, when Quackity has free time they go to the beach and spend afternoons lounging on the front porch. On quiet, cool evenings they lay under their favorite tree and cuddle under an old blanket beneath the moonlight. Fireflies dance around their backyard, ladybugs chew through the leaves in their flower bed, butterflies visit their patio in droves. On Sundays they visit the farmer’s market in town; by now everyone is aware of Schlatt’s existence. It was never something they formally announced, one day they just decided to head back to the city together and no one really seemed to bat an eye. Though, how can you fault two men who are so outwardly and obviously in love; Quackity drags his towering husband behind him through the market and forces him to smell various flowers, fruits and vegetables. Schlatt simply allows himself to be pulled around in any which direction, it’s more fun that way.

In the fall they visit the local orchards and pumpkin patches, they decorate the house for the season and let crisp autumn air through cracked windows. It’s around this time that Tubbo and Fundy start making routine trips out to their house; the four of them share comfortable meals together at least once a week in the warm kitchen. Schlatt spends most of his freetime reading and learning how to cook properly, lately he enjoys long walks through the forest that sprawls seemingly infinitely into the horizon. He’s gotten good at identifying mushrooms and other various plants, it’s a silly little thing, but he has fun with it regardless. As night falls they share warm mugs of whiskey and cider next to the fire pit in the backyard, Quackity sits on his lap and rests his head against the ram’s warm chest. 

In the winter they curl up under their blankets every morning and spend far too long considering staying in altogether. Eventually Schlatt will rise from the warmth of their bed and descend the creaky staircase into the kitchen, he’ll make a cup of coffee for Quackity who only ever leaves the comfort of the mattress because he misses his husband. He'll nuzzle his face into Schlatt’s back as he stands at the stove making bacon and eggs, the ram has to nearly pry himself away just to grab a plate from the cabinet. Q will grumble and groan as he finally gets ready for work and leaves for the day, when he comes back in the evening they’ll sidle up next to each other on the couch and heat themselves up by the fireplace. It’s all warm touches and soft kisses, fumbling over each other in the low light and pulling their clothes off before making their way upstairs for the night.

In the spring they replant their garden and spend early mornings sat on the patio watching the daybreak over the horizon. The sun is finally enough to bring warmth to their skin, they can shed the extra layers of fabric from autumn and winter in favor of lighter clothing. Quackity insists they visit the botanical gardens in town and see the butterfly exhibit, Schlatt will pretend to begrudgingly agree even though he was going to suggest it anyways. They walk hand-in-hand on the sidewalk and window shop through main street, at some point Q will beg to stop for ice cream and Schlatt will once again pretend to be uninterested even though he was secretly hoping his husband would ask. As the spring comes to a head they renew their vows by the ocean, Tubbo and Fundy tag along just to catch a glimpse of the men they’ve always thought to be nothing more than friends confidently state their love for each other. 

At long last the angst and turmoil of their youth has fizzled out and left behind the quiet comforts of domesticity and warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with me and following this work! I've never really published any fan works before, nor have I completed one, so this is a big accomplishment for me. Your kind comments and endless support mean the world to me. 
> 
> Without spoiling too much, I do currently have a plan for another Schlatt/Quackity work in the same vein of "they're in love and it's tragic, but it's still genuine love." Don't get your hopes up too high because God knows when I'll sit down and actually start writing anything concrete! 
> 
> Again, thank you so much for supporting this silly little thing I started and I'm so glad that so many of you seem to have enjoyed it! <3
> 
> If you'd like to hit me up at any point and blubber over these two gay presidents my discord is Dio#2345 ^_^ (fair warning, I am an adult!)
> 
> This work was inspired by the album Twin Fantasy by Car Seat Headrest and I highly recommend you listen to it.


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